Houston, we have a problem.
The problem is, I’m in a fine mood.
As Karyn pointed out, my humor is at its most honed when I have an opposing force, someone who is wrong, or something that is unfair or unjust. Right now, after a weekend of sun and relaxation and nice meals and good TV, my chill level is hovering dangerously close to 100%. I don’t know if it was the positive news about Hambone’s creatinine levels, or the sage-seasoned pork chops, served with farm-stand sweet corn and a grilled peach burrata salad, or the fresh-lime margaritas with friends, or the interesting and satisfying projects I’m working on, but I am—for this brief moment in time—pretty mellow.
Since Thursday, I’ve clocked more than 10 hours floating in a pool in the hot sun, which is my happy place. I don’t put a lot of stock in horoscopes, but I do know that I’m the quintessential Scorpio, a water sign. The rule for anyone who’s a Cancer, Scorpio, or Pisces is that you put crabs in water. Baths, hot tubs, oceans, lakes, pools or ponds (a pond would be good for me), what have you—water is the surest way to reset us. And this crab spent the whole weekend submerged.
While at peace is a lovely way to live, it’s kind of shit in regard to writing because I need conflict to thrive. Plus, I don’t like when things feel like they’re going too well. I read recently that we’re predisposed to prefer bad news, because when life goes off the rails, there’s always an element of hope that we can right it. But when all is well? It’s disquieting to not need hope and doesn’t engender that same sense of optimism. (However, the good news about having the generalized, free-floating anxiety typical of Gen X is that I don’t trust this lull and have every confidence it will be brief.)
Such is my Zen, I’m not even mad at the stupid asshole who keeps buying fake Gucci in one of my Facebook reseller groups, because I’ve realized why her posts are triggering. I’m editing a book on personal finance and mistakes I made when I was younger are hitting home. So, when I see this person who is fucking up by the numbers (and is super smug about it), putting her meager earnings into buying six pair of Gucci sneakers, half of which may not even be authentic, rather than a high-interest savings account for her kid’s college, or the downpayment for a house, or an index fund, or an upgrade on her old car, or an emergency fund, it brings up all the dumb and capricious moves I once made. What the finance book says is that it is okay to treat yourself on occasion, but not to be an idiot. (One pair of used Gucci sneakers is a treat. Six pair of used Gucci sneakers when living paycheck to paycheck = idiot.)
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